


You Know What That Was

by rednihilist



Series: We're Not Our Fathers 'Verse [1]
Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: Angst, Drama, Episode Related, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-26
Updated: 2010-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-12 05:52:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rednihilist/pseuds/rednihilist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tim changes JD, and changes a bit himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Know What That Was

**Author's Note:**

> 'Friday Night Lights' and certain characters belong to NBC Universal, Peter Berg et al. No profit is gained from this writing, only, hopefully, enjoyment.
> 
> Set during/after Season Three, Episode 11: A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall. Branches away from canon following the Taylors' jump into the McCoy family drama outside Applebee's.

"You know what that was? That was a game for the ages," Tim announced. "What a game!" He went to shut the front door, but it stuck like always. He had to give it that extra slam to get it all the way closed, and hoped Lyla kinda didn't notice or wouldn't care.

"You know," she started saying, tossing her jacket on the recliner, "why don't you go out? You guys are going to State. There's probably. . . tons of parties tonight."

Tim headed for the fridge. Hooking a brewski, he turned around to see Lyla already over on the couch. "Cos the real parties are when we _win_ State," he informed her, and she smiled that little sad-ass smile of hers. Tim twisted the cap off the bottle and walked on over to the couch. "That's when the real parties are, and then there's one little thing, too." Lyla just looked up at him, amused. "I think I'm okay just hanging with my gal," Tim said, dropping down onto the couch and waiting for Lyla to stretch out and set her legs on top of his. "Especially," he added, "after a night like tonight."

And just as he started working the real magic, going for the inner-Tim-Riggins-emotional-support, his luck turned to shit. Like always, man. Like always.

The phone rang.

"You gonna get that?" Lyla asked quietly when it rang a second time and Tim still hadn't gotten up.

"I'm thinking 'no'," Tim replied, and Lyla grinned, but she also jabbed him with one of her pointy, surprisingly bony-as-hell little feet.

" _Tim_ ," she said, and he sighed and got up, displacing her legs. No playing when her voice went all deep and quiet like that. No siree.

Tim grabbed the phone out of the cradle. Jesus, it was charged for once. Go, Billy-man. "Yeah?" he asked real loudly into the receiver, holding Lyla's eyes and grinning when she totally just fake-glared at him. "Riggins' Residence. How might I service you this evening?"

More glaring from Lyla, only this time it wasn't fake and Tim grinned even wider and made a stupid face at her.

"Tim," Coach's voice said over the line, and instantly Tim was facing the fridge and as fucking serious as cancer.

"Coach?" he asked, "What's-- ?" He cleared his throat. "What's up?"

"Son, I need you to come over to my house right now," Coach said, and he sounded scarily stern. "You okay to drive?" he asked two seconds after that, and--

Tim felt like one of those fucking amoeba critters Mr. Lory droned on and on about. Jesus fuck.

"Uh, yes, sir," Tim answered as confidently as he could, his eyes dropping down to the full bottle of beer clutched in his other hand. "Dry as the Sahara, Coach."

"Good, good," was Coach's reply, distracted and still fucking terrifying the shit out of Tim.

He did not like it when Coach sounded like that. No good ever came from that tone. Only shit. Shit and pain and bad karma. Whatever this was, Tim was not going to like it. That much was guaranteed. Wasn't no reason other than a bad one that Coach would call _him_ , Tim-fucking-Riggins, and tell him to get over to the house.

"I'll, uh. . . I'll be there right away, sir," Tim said, and Coach just made some kind of grunt and ended the call. Tim dropped his arm down and pushed the 'Off' button on the phone.

"Tim?" Lyla asked and, fuck, she sounded about as scared as Tim felt. "What's going on? Something wrong? Did something happen?"

He looked up when her hand touched his face. Sneaky little woman, he thought. Tim just swallowed and turned to set the phone back in the charging cradle on the counter. And then he set the beer down, too. Not even a swallow out of it yet.

"Don't know," he said, moving away from her and grabbing his jacket by the door. "Coach said to get to his house right away, so I gotta. . . " Tim checked his jeans for his keys.

"Go," Lyla told him. He looked up and she had her hands braced on the counter. "Call if you-- if you need a ride or anything, okay?"

And Tim nodded, dropping his head down again as he reached for the stupid fucking door that would never shut right.

Amoeba Riggins, he thought, dumbest fucking thing on the planet.

***

He rang the doorbell, and then stuck his hands in his pockets. It'd been awhile since he'd last been here, and his quick departure then hadn't been under the, uh-- the best circumstances. God, he hoped Coach wasn't pissed at him again. Funny thing was, he hadn't done anything wrong this time, either. Not that he knew of anyway.

The door was suddenly pulled in and Mrs. Coach was standing there. Tim swallowed and shifted a little on his feet. . . cos she had that look on her face.

"Uh, ma'am," he said, "Coach called me?"

Mrs. ( _Principal_ ) _Taylor_ nodded and pulled the door open wide enough for Tim to take the hint. "Tim," she said, "you come on in. They're-- they're on out back."

Tim nodded uncertainly and careful as fuck stepped into the house. He waited a little for Mrs. ( _Principal_ , you moron) Coach to shut and lock the front door behind him, which he thought might have been kinda weird. The locking. He couldn't remember if they'd locked the house when he'd been here before, but Mrs. Taylor seemed pretty angry when she locked it tonight. Then she turned around and, at spotting Tim still waiting there, her face just went blank.

But that'd been a whole _helluva_ lot of anger there right before that. That was Fact.

"Mrs. Taylor?" he asked, and resisted the urge to clear his throat. So instead, his voice came out sounding like a scratchy whisper.

She came up to him and patted him on his shoulder. Then, looking him right in the eye, she told him, fuck, _ordered_ him, "Honey, go outside on the patio."

"Yes, ma'am," he immediately replied. Tim broke the eye contact and turned around. Walking down the hall and then into the living room, he kinda stumbled when he saw someone else in there already. JD's mom, he thought, glancing at the woman on the couch before moving past. Lady looked like it'd been a rough night, mascara and make-up all smeared and her nose red as a clown's. "Ma'am," he offered to her, before sliding open the patio door and stepping outside.

Tim slid the door shut behind him, as smooth as Chinese silk in its perfect, soundless, solid frame. Then he turned around.

"Tim," Coach greeted him, turning in his chair to look back at him over his shoulder, "have a seat."

Tim quickly strode over and pulled out a chair, carefully dropping into it. Coach was looking at him, but Tim was kinda unsettled, not because JD was sitting at the table, too, but just how he looked sitting there. Looked. . . fucking spooked. JD's mom inside and, yeah, Tim had figured the guy would be here too somewhere. It occurred to him that maybe that father of his was around, as well, and Tim darted a quick glance around the backyard. But, nope. No sign of the fucker, and Tim just hoped the bastard wasn't in the bathroom or something. Sneak up on 'em and be all overbearing-asshole again. Fun times.

No one said anything, so after a few seconds Tim started getting antsy. "Coach?" he quietly asked, leaving it at that.

"Yeah," Coach responded, now back to studying JD next to him. "Tim, I called you here because we have. . . a bit of a situation and I-- my wife, JD's mom, and I, we all need to sit down and have ourselves a talk, and-- "

"I'm not a kid," JD interrupted angrily, and Tim gave the guy some mental points for balls. Nobody interrupted Coach like that. Well, except Mrs. Coach, but she had balls too. And special, uh, standing. "I don't need a babysitter!" JD added.

Coach didn't move a muscle at the guy shouting, but Tim glanced over through the glass doors and saw both Mrs. Taylor and JD's mom looking this way.

"I know you're not a kid," Coach replied. Then he added, dryly, "You're too damn good at football to be a kid."

Tim huffed a laugh, and suddenly JD's anger was turned on him.

"What the hell you looking at, Riggins?"

"You, One-Two," he answered. "I'm looking at you and I am asking myself the same question you are, man."

"And what's that?" JD tried to snap out angrily, get his pissed-off groove on, and tear Tim a new one probably. Didn't pull it off, though, or couldn't. Instead, it just sounded. . . bratty, like some uppity little rich kid.

Yeah, go figure a rich kid sounding like a rich kid. Dumbass.

"Well, right now I'm asking myself 'Why the hell did Coach tell me to come here?' Is that what you're thinking?"

JD just gave him a _look_ , and Coach Taylor fired off a tired, "Watch your mouth, Riggins."

"Yes, sir," he replied. When neither Coach nor JD said anything more, though, Tim stuck his foot in his mouth, bit the bullet, jumped on that grenade, and every other fucking expression of dumbassery there ever was, and asked, "Is somebody gonna tell me what's going on?" Coach turned to look at him, so Tim tacked on a quick, "Sir."

"My dad's a bastard," JD suddenly bit out. Tim switched from looking at Coach to looking at the QB.

Lotta-- lotta anger there.

Coach didn't say anything, which really left Tim high and dry. He still had no fucking clue what had happened, other than Joe McCoy acting like an ass again. Business as usual, he would've thought. . . had it not been for all the rage in JD's voice. Dude didn't usually talk about his dad that way.

Come to think of it, though, he didn't really talk about his dad all that fondly, either. Or, at all actually. Huh.

"And what happened?" Tim eventually asked again, quietly. He switched it up this time, though. Instead of looking to Coach for the answer, Tim just stared at JD and waited. He got a look back in response, a. . . _certain_ kinda look, a _familiar_ kinda look.

Well, goddamn, Tim thought, smart enough not to swear out loud in front of Coach again. God fucking damn. Joe McCoy musta done something to show his real colors tonight for JD to look like that.

Like he wanted to just rip his dad's head off and knee him in the junk and throw him off a cliff all at the same time.

Tim hated to even think it, but it kinda didn't surprise him. Joe McCoy was definitely a 'bastard.' Tim coulda told anyone that after just watching him hang around the practices. He was an asshole, and more importantly, he was an asshole to JD.

And that just didn't sit right with him. God damn.

Helluva night this was turning out to be.

Tim ran his hand through his hair and then turned to look over at Coach again. Coach was looking right back at him, which made Tim flinch a little. In surprise.

"You wanna go inside and talk, you can, Coach," Tim said, keeping his voice still really low and quiet. "Me and One-Two here'll just sit and chill. No biggie."

Now Coach didn't smile, but Tim had been around him long enough to know when he was. . . well, not happy, but. . . pleased. Or something. Coach got up from his deck chair and clapped a hand on Tim's shoulder before doing the same to JD. Then he turned around and went back inside the house, sliding the glass door shut again behind him.

Tim watched Mrs. Coach and JD's mom as they looked up, watched as Coach went over to stand in front of the TV with his hands on his hips. JD's mom was still crying, and Mrs. Coach was still patting her back to comfort her or whatever. Tim figured it was his job to do the same for JD.

Comfort him. Cos his dad was an asshole.

He looked away from inside, and glanced at JD once before dropping his eyes down. JD didn't say anything, but he also didn't make any sort of attempt to get up and follow Coach inside, so Tim considered that something. Obviously, they all had a reason for keeping JD out here. Tim had been around the Taylors enough to know that when they had a plan. . . it was just plain stupid not to follow it.

So out here, JD was gonna stay. And Tim would stay with him and try to. . . fucking comfort him or something. At least he wasn't crying. Tim didn't think he was all that good with comforting to begin with, and tears woulda just made it even harder.

Tim Riggins, Emotional-Genius, he was not. Too bad Saracen wasn't here. He woulda known what to say.

Or Jay. Tim swallowed a little thickly. Jay woulda had the perfect speech all prepared. Probably one of the ones he'd used to give Tim back in the day.

And that was what made Tim look up again and focus back on JD. Jason used to have to fucking do this shit all the time, minus the parent and worried Coach and Mrs. Coach. Jay had done it all by himself.

He'd always made Tim okay again. Back when. So it was time to suck it up and return the favor sorta. Like that movie with the little Sixth Sense kid. Time to pay it forward.

Here goes, Streeter, Tim thought. Wish me luck.

"Nice shiner you got there," Tim offered, and when JD's head snapped over, he wanted to fucking slap himself. Jesus Christ. The shit that came out of his mouth! "Coach give you any ice for that?"

JD just stared back at him, but soon enough he was shaking his head a little.

"Wait here," Tim told him, and he got up and hesitated only a second or two before going inside the house. He closed the door, and just headed straight into the kitchen. The ice was in the left side door of the fridge, and for a moment Tim kinda waffled around a little trying to remember where Mrs. Coach kept everything. Ziploc baggies were. . .

"Here," Coach suddenly said, coming up on Tim's right and opening the drawer next to the fridge. He pulled out a box of baggies, and then held it up for Tim to take one.

Tim nodded, and then turned back to fill the bag up with ice. Coach was rummaging around some more, and just when Tim was sealing the bag of ice shut a small towel appeared in front of his face. He looked up and met Coach's eyes.

"That's good thinking," Coach said quietly, and Tim took it for what it was.

He nodded and reached for the towel, wrapping it around the ice bag. Then he turned around again and went back outside.

To JD, newest member of the Shitty Fathers Club.

Tim took Coach's vacated chair, the one right next to JD instead of the one across from him. Then he slowly held out the ice bag, all wrapped up in one of the Taylors' nice, clean, special kitchen towels.

"Thanks," JD whispered, and Tim wasn't the smartest or nicest guy around, but he still knew stuff. He knew plenty of stuff.

And one of the things he knew was when to look away, and when not to.

JD took the ice bag and carefully put it up against his eye, wincing. The bag didn't block Tim's view of JD's other eye, though, not when he was sitting this close and with the light coming out from inside the house hitting JD right in the face. Guy was crying, quietly, and if he'd wanted to, Tim coulda ignored it. He maybe should have. He didn't know JD all _that_ well, after all. Not off the field, at least.

Someone had to say it, though, and Coach had left Tim out here. That meant something. That meant he expected Tim to do or say something, some kind of hopeful, uplifting speech, like Jay would give.

Jay, with his perfect mom and dad. Mr. Street was a nice guy. A lot like Coach. Jay had a good family, and yet he'd still come up with the right words every Tim had come over late, way back when. Surely. . . surely that meant Tim could do it, too.

JD sniffed real hard and loud all of a sudden, and Tim leaned forward in the chair. He set his elbows on the table and brought his hands together in front of his face. JD wasn't looking at him, so Tim didn't look, either.

"First time?" he asked to the table, feeling JD tense up beside him.

"Wha-- uh. . . what?" He cleared his throat and sniffled again, and Tim kinda smiled.

How fucking weird, him and JD in kinda the same boat.

"Was it the first time?" Tim repeated carefully, keeping his voice low and making sure he sounded calm and understanding. JD didn't respond right away, so Tim tacked on the clincher: "That he hit you. He do it before?"

"No!" JD instantly said. "No, no, he never did. He, uh. .. you know, like. . . pushes or something, but. . . " He trailed off, sniffed again.

Tim nodded. "Yeah," he agreed. "How 'bout your mom?" Tim looked over when he felt JD's eyes on him. Guy looked freaked out, and Tim just kept it low and quiet. He downplayed it, just like Jay always had. Calm as a cucumber. Just two guys talking. "He ever hit her?"

"No!" was JD's immediate response again, but as Tim watched his face closely. . . he saw the doubt creep in there. "No, he'd-- he wouldn't. I don't. . . But-- " JD was breathing faster and where his hand was still holding the icepack to his face, Tim could see him shaking.

"Hey," Tim said, "it's okay, man. Nothin's gonna happen right now, kay?" JD suddenly met his eyes and Tim bit his lip to keep from giving anything away. "One-Two," he said, " _breathe_. Take a deep breath. Coach ain't gonna let anything happen. Right?"

JD nodded, that scared as shit look still all over his face. He looked pretty out of it now, too, and Tim wished he hadn't asked about it. Maybe he should've just--

"Coach tell you you're staying here?" Tim asked.

JD was still looking at him, so he saw it as the guy visibly pulled himself together. He shook his head.

"Cos you know you're going to," Tim went on. "And if not, you're coming with me. But you aren't going back to that mansion of yours, and neither is your mom. So just. . . just calm down. Come on, One-Two," he said a little more insistently, "if you didn't, uh, notice anything, then I'm sure nothing happened. 'M sure she's fine."

"I didn't even-- " JD broke off to clear his throat. "I just. . . what if he did?" he asked a little too loudly. "I've never seen him so-- but what if he did. . . hit her, and I wasn't there? And-- and what happens now?"

More tears, and Tim swallowed heavily himself.  "You stay away," he told him, meeting JD's eyes and not pulling any punches. "You don't give him the opportunity. If he did, then he's not going to ever again," Tim said. "And if he didn't. . . then it stops here, man. JD," he said, setting his hand on JD's shoulder and really making sure he had the guy's attention, "you gotta step up. Don't let this slide. **_Don't_**."

JD nodded, blinking more tears down his face. Tim pulled his hand back and looked away.

"You-- you _know_ , don't you?" JD suddenly asked, all quiet and unsure. It had a slight. . . bent to it, though, the question.

And Tim knew what he was asking, just from those words alone.

"Yeah," Tim assured him, bringing his hands up to his face. "Oh, yeah." He sighed, and then dropped his hands away altogether to slouch down in the chair. He glanced at JD before going back to staring at the patio table. "Isn't exactly a secret, man. Small town. Everyone fuckin' knows everything."

JD was silent, real silent, and Tim coulda slapped himself again after he replayed what he'd just said.

"Hey, don't worry about it," Tim told him. JD dropped the bag of ice down into his lap and then just sat there staring ahead. Tim stared at JD, trying to get the guy's eyes back over on him so he could fix another careless remark. Him and his fucking mouth. "JD, don't even sweat it. So people know? Big fucking deal. They won't _really_ know, just think they do. Just the gossip. And screw 'em anyway. Who cares?"

"My mom will care," JD answered. "And what will happen with school and the house? And. . . football? You think the guys are just gonna let this-- ?"

"The _guys_ ," Tim interrupted heatedly, "won't say a fucking thing. I promise you that, One-Two." JD looked over at Tim from the corner of his eye, and Tim took the opportunity and seized it. "Not one thing about any of it."

A long moment passed of him and JD just sitting there, JD still looking at him from the corner of his eye and Tim just full on staring right back at him. Then JD blinked again and asked real quietly, "You're sure?"

Tim nodded, then waited a beat and said, "And if they do, I'll goddamn _annihilate_ 'em."

JD nodded, and Tim relaxed back in his chair again. They both looked away, but after another minute Tim stuck his elbow out and nudged JD's arm. When he looked over, Tim jerked his chin at the icepack still sitting in the guy's lap.

"Put that back on," he told him, before moving his eyes over to something else. "It'll bring down the swelling."


End file.
